Moneyshot
by Citizen Cane
Summary: Consumer Hell, or The Adventures of Remy That May or May Not Include Dragging House Along to Buy Him a Television For His Birthday.  Unapologetically Houseteen, belonging to no particular season.  Not too naughty language.


_(AN: This story is really thanks to my wordsmithing partner-in-crime, (/u/3309914/beauregard_hadley). She pushed me to not only post this slice of Houseteen but is responsible for me actually _finishing _the damn thing. (I __am terrible at writing things with endings). She has a few great stories up herself so if you feel so inclined stop by and visit her little nook of FF. In the meanwhile, as always, enjoy! Comments and reviews are always appreciated but it's more important that you just enjoy yourself reading these things as much as I love to write them. Viva Houseteen!)_

They had no reason for sitting on the floor that night surrounded by beer bottles and Chinese takeout cartons in the glow of HD waves other than that that was where they ended up, having been given the choice between moving the large flatscreen box and packing Styrofoam or surrendering the couch to temporary clutter. It had been a long day and his usual reluctance to be around people only compounded the already arduous task of dealing with them. She had given him a choice and for both their sakes she made it simple.

"Listen," she had cut him off in the middle of his griping from the bathroom, where she was putting her hair up in a loose, messy ponytail. "The sale is at the store. You want the TV, we have to go there. We'll be in and out, I promise."

"I'm not falling for that again."

He called out from the living room, where he was warm and comfortable and content. To make sure she could hear him from where he was he had leaned his head back and yelled up towards the ceiling. After, his piercing blues darted around it in idle inspection while he waited to see if she would answer. When he heard nothing, victory was assumed and he went back to watching his favorite soap opera, a tap of a button taking the old television set off mute. Remy walked right in front of it minutes later, brushing her teeth with acquired nonchalance.

"Come on," She took the toothbrush out of her mouth so she could point at him with it, her words a little sloppy from her having to keep foam welled in one side. "You need a new television. That thing's older than I am."

She resumed her brushing and moved to sit next to him, leaning forward to grab his empty coffee mug so she had something to spit into.

"Technically…" House started, letting his eyes wander up her pajama pants to the small sliver of bare flesh allowed by a white tanktop just a measly two inches too short and resisted the urge to poke his finger right into her bellybutton just to watch her squirm. "…that's ageism. You can't fire my TV just because it's old. And you didn't eat your hash browns."

To emphasize the point, he nudged the plate of lukewarm potatoes towards her side of the coffee table and to nullify it she nudged them right back.

"I'm full" was the only explanation she offered and as she hunched over the mug lifted delicately so she could spit toothpaste foam into it he connected the dots- she had just finished throwing up the eggs Florentine they'd woken up early to make, and not in the 'trendy diet' way, more like 'the medicines I'm taking are having side effects' way. He made the mistake of letting his stare linger and she caught him inspecting her out of the corner of her eye. It frustrated her to be treated like a seven-year-old and it downright drove her crazy that her confidence, often, buckled under his ice-blue stare when he zeroed in and examined her. She momentarily sucked her lips in, as if she were spreading lipstick on them, and when he saw the gentle furrow in her brow he already knew that whatever she was about to say was a lie.

"Seriously, we cooked enough to feed an army."

"And you ate enough to starve a bird."

"House," she sighed it out, a few fingers fanning out to put some pressure on her temple. "Greg, please. Not today. Let's not do this today."

She looked exhausted and downtrodden in a split second- a momentary visage of defeat- that would've been private if not for his own hawk-like tendencies, if not for him dogging her every move with the excuse that he was her Attending. House looked back to the television and reached over to put his hand on her thigh, using his thumb to rub the inside of it.

They were held together by silent understandings and the things that went unspoken. In that way, many would consider them dysfunctional for the obvious and preferred lack of communication but the reality was their ability to synchronize without a thought made them unique. All the same dysfunctional, but unique. If she was having a bad day he knew to give her just enough space and keep words to a minimum and when he pushed her too far a look was all she had to signal with. Sometimes there was just an electricity about her, an aura of static that prickled the hairs on his arms and made everything bristle. Sometimes it was a good thing, sometimes it was bad, but it was always silent and unobtrusive to their daily routine. And just that moment, with one gesture, he let her know that today she'd have a free pass. They wouldn't heatedly debate the course of action she should've been taking for her Huntington's, they wouldn't spend the day in separate rooms.

It was his birthday and he wanted to spend it with her.

**XX**

"It's my fucking birthday," he almost whined when he saw the bustle of the store. "I don't want to spend it here, shuffling along in a herd."

She squeezed and tugged his hand at the same time, a parent cutting a temper tantrum short.

"Stop it. We're in, we're out. I'm getting you the damn tv."

"I didn't ask for it."

"No, but you're getting it."

"I'll return it."

"No, you won't…" A roll of her eyes. "That requires…gasp…coming back here."

Momentarily silenced, House looked over the crowd with apprehension and unadulterated loathing on his features. There were kids screaming, people fighting, stupid questions being asked. He didn't know where to start.

"Look at me."

Slowly, he shifted his focus to her and waited patiently. She raised her hands to cup either side of his face and felt him melt into her touch. Good. He was more compliant when he was putty.

"I'm going to find somebody who can help. Stay right here. Look, you can sit in that recliner."

She pointed and sure enough he spotted the mock living room, complete with love seat and recliner. She turned his head to meet her gaze again, stealing a quick kiss on the lips by going up on her tiptoes without warning.

"Sit and watch tv. I know you can do that much. It won't belong, I promise."

"I could've done this at home. Didn't need to drag me here to watch TV. In fact, you didn't even need to drag _you_ here, because I already told you there's _nothing wrong_ with my tele-"

"Sit."

She practically pushed him into place although not forcefully, smirking when he landed with an 'oof' and at the look on his face when she straddled his lap, running her hands over his buzzcut's worth of hair. She laughed at him, kissed him on the cheek, and backed off slowly while gently coaxing his cane out of his hand.

"You wish, pervert. Play nice."

"With who? You?"

Remy didn't answer him, she was already walking to find a sales associate, twirling his cane the whole while and he enjoyed the scene from his seat in the recliner, having twisted to ogle.

Thank god for yoga pants.

House startled when he turned back around, pressing back heavily into his seat abruptly as if he'd turned to come face-to-face with the embodiment of clinic duty. His lip curled back just a bit, brows knit tightly together in what could only be disgust. "You bitch," he muttered under his breath. His grip on either arm of the recliner tightened until his knuckles were white, shiny, the skin stretched so taut the tendons were easily sliding back and forth over the bone, his nails embedding themselves in the faux leather.

Staring back at him from the foot of the recliner were two children.

"Hey," piped up the boy, grinning wide to show off where a couple baby teeth had fallen out. "You said a bad word!"

"Get used to it." House glanced between the two of them and determined almost immediately that they were likely twins- same annoyingly cherubic faces, same big green eyes, same messy chocolate hair.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Gap Tooth's sister was a step behind him, the remote to the display television clutched in her tiny hands.

"Give it here." House flicked a few fingers inward to beckon.

Giggling shyly, the girl ducked to hide behind her brother and shook her head.

"We're watchin' somefin'." Gap Tooth explained it calmly, pointing at the screen. House glared at the little dog that was singing about mail and 'skadoo'ing.

"Correction," House clawed to his feet with a grunt. "You _were _watching something. Now it's my turn. There's no such thing as 'skadoo', I don't care what that mutt tells you."

He stepped forward to try to take the remote but Shy Girl ran away, still giggling, and after a few hobbled steps he abandoned pursuit.

"Mister, you walk funny."

"That's because both my testicles dropped already. Don't be too jealous, your time will come."

"What's testicles?" Gap Tooth asked with genuine curiosity, his small features skewing in confusion as he moved aside to let House sit back down.

"Like ovaries, only for us guys."

"What's ovaries?"

"…ask your mother. Better yet, ask her if she knows the Reverse Cowgirl."

"Why?"

"You want to find out what testicles are, right?"

"I'unno…I guess."

"So ask your mother. And tell your sister to give me the remote."

"Can't." Gap Tooth hung over the arm of the recliner. "She loves Blue."

"And I love Gravedigger."

"Monster trucks!" The boy squeaked, hopping up and down.

House smirked but banished it as quickly as it had surfaced.

"Damn right, monster trucks. You could see them, right now, if you get me that remote."

"But…"

"Do you have testicles or ovaries? Come on, kid."

"I'unno!"

"Just get the damn remote."

"You keep sayin' bad words."

"I'm gonna start doing bad things if I don't get to watch big trucks crush much smaller cars."

House locked gazes with the boy and gave his best glare.

"Get. me. that. remote."

Gap Tooth stared back with huge saucer eyes, nose and mouth twitching as if he were a bunny. His eyes were watery, lip trembling. House was pretty sure tears were on the way.

Gap Tooth sneezed in his face.

**XX**

Thinking about it, it was one of the crueler stunts she had pulled on him- leaving him stranded there with a couple brats- but she figured that if it got unbearable he would hobble away. In fact, he would probably hobble right over to the turntables and help himself to some vinyl. He would get back at her by racking up a bill that he would dump in her lap under the guise of it being his birthday present. "Part two, Electric Boogaloo," he would say past a smirk. She could picture the exact scene and how it would play out.

So far, though, she heard no screaming, hysterical kids, no security being called, no parents sputtering out their disbelief that a single person could actually be so rude, so she was relaxed for the time being while the young, clueless employee struggled against an unyielding computer system.

He gave it a good smack with the flat of his palm- a default troubleshooting tactic.

"I, uh…" he began, pushing his glasses further up his nosebridge. "I can't find the like…model. Like, it won't come up on..urm..the screen and stuff."

Look, kid." Remy leaned over the counter just enough to get his attention. "I'm sure you're very sweet and maybe today's just not your day but I'm on a time budget, here. So what I need you to do…" She let her eyes drop to his nametag and her lips twisted into a smirk.

Go figure.

"…Greg, is go get someone who has a clue what the fuck they're doing. Preferably someone smarter than a monkey. Can you do that for me, Greg?"

"Uh, I um..like, I'll…"

"You know what?" She held up a hand, resting House's cane against her shoulder. "Nevermind. I'll do it myself. Just know that if part of this store catches fire or if the sprinklers go off or all the TVs switch to _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_, it's your fault. People might even lose their lives. That's all on your head, Boy From the Entertainment Department."

She smirked a little and leaned back, giving him a subtle albeit lazy wink.

"Godspeed, Greg."

Remy laughed to herself as she turned and left in search of competence- no wonder House didn't want to come. If she took the time to think on peoples' behaviors and obsess as much as he did, she figured she would dread going out, too. Yet this was a necessary evil. They'd both been getting comfortable with their living arrangements and House's already crippling antisocial behavior was bordering on Hermitism. If she asked, they'd go out to eat but it was slowly evolving into actual stress for him. She could see the anxiety written on his features anywhere from going to the grocery store to having dinner. And she had been spoiling him a great deal because their habits were comfortable and something of a relief for her. It was so spartan, almost ideal, but everything came with consequences or a price and she was smart enough to know that they couldn't stay shut off from the rest of the world forever.

They couldn't even do it for the span of time she had left, however long it was.

Remy twirled the cane again as she walked along, with the skill of someone who'd handled a baton in their lifetime, and fought the urge to break out in a Charlie Chaplin walk. She almost groaned as she shook her head, scolding herself under her breath.

_Remy, you are spending _way_ too much time with House._

Habits were hard things to break and, for whatever reason, her natural instinct to call him by his last name was crusading against her lover's instinct to use the first. House was…House. She had been Remy all her life until she applied for the Diagnostics job- hearing him call her what everybody else in her life did was not nearly as surreal as the name Greg rolling off her tongue when it came to referencing him. He had always been House. Most days he was still House.

But, oh god, he was also Greg.

She was fairly certain that she loved Greg but then again…where was the line, anymore? Whoever said that business should be kept separate from personal lives never spent their lunch break in an abandoned exam room with Greg when he had a craving for more than a cold Reuben.

The memories were so vivid and the daydreaming so comforting a departure that she nearly ran over the employee setting DVDs out on a sale rack. Several copies of _'300'_ dropped from the girl's arms and she scrambled to retrieve them.

"Sorry, Miss! I'm so sorry. This is…this is.."

"This is Sparta?" Remy quoted, crouching with a smirk to help the girl.

_God, you're such a dork._

At first she thought that she was going to have to explain the joke to the girl- wait, woman?...it was hard to tell, she had a baby face- and that was just embarrassing and full of kicking gestures, but recognition flashed in the clerk's eyes and she stood up hugging the DVDs to her chest, laughing as she spoke.

"Leonidas, party of 300. Leonidas, party of 300, your table in Hell's ready."

Remy smiled, genuinely happy that her pop culture references could be understood by people who weren't House. That the girl could counter made it even better.

"I'm sorry about that. I should've been watching where I was going."

"Oh no, no it's okay. I was daydreaming."

"You're entitled," Remy said, placing a DVD on top of the stack in her arms, not too proud as to abstain from checking the clerk out.

She was pretty in a plain way and if they were in a teen comedy she could've been a bombshell if she took her glasses off- the Magic Change. Remy wasn't completely against the idea of inviting her back to House's place to see if he'd live up to all his talk.

"_I'd say yes,"_ he had snarked, the last time she tested the threeway waters. _"But then you'd both have to take a week off from work."_

"Listen…" She started off with the intention of working her Thirteen Charm but backed off at the last minute, not wanting to seem predatory. She needed to be just likeable enough to get her damn TV. With House in the mood he was in, she figured she had about twenty minutes left.

Thirty if he fell asleep in the recliner.

"…maybe you can help me? I'm trying to find someone with a brain bigger than a pea to get me one of those flatscreens that're on sale. Greg wasn't very helpful."

**XX**

She titled her head back against his shoulder to drain the last of her beer, sighing a little afterwards because their Chinese food/beer dinner was the perfect comfort food cherry on top of the day's sundae. Turning the bottle in her hand she smiled and started to massage his thigh for him with the other.

"This is a good beer. Must be a real special occasion."

"Nah, just my birthday."

He leaned forward to kiss the top of her head, his arm outstretched along the couch cushions and his hand holding fast to the remote. They'd spent most of the evening figuring how to hook the flatscreen up and they were sitting on the floor amidst packaging chaos, his bad leg outstretched and her resting between the two, against him.

For a while they sat in awe and silence, simply watching technology in motion and admiring the crystal-clear picture. House felt old admitting to himself that this new television would do wonders for his eyesight as the old one ofttimes made him squint but Remy's presence against him, her fingers deft in their gentle kneading, made him realize there were worse things than bad eyesight.

"Is that what today was?" She smirked and shifted in his lap to face him. "Never would've imagined."

The corner of his mouth twitched, a small smile surfacing from beneath the whiskers but he said nothing and went back to watching the television, eyes slowly bobbing up and down as he followed movement.

Looking back to the television, Remy clicked her tongue and gave him a little elbow in the ribs.

"Boobs? Really? I buy you a top-model flatscreen so you can watch porn? Change it back."

House answered by raising the volume and sitting forward so he could imitate the girl on screen, letting out a variety of high-pitched moans and noises right by her ear.

"Oh, oh…baby, yeah…give it to me."

Remy squirmed and couldn't stop herself from laughing, her attempts to escape all for naught when he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her down against him, getting louder.

"Ah…ah! Ahhh!"

She wriggled a little more so she could face him again and started matching him in pitch.

"You want vocal? I can give you vocal."

"I just want to watch my fancy new tv." House stopped moaning long enough to respond but was quick to start up again.

Remy clamped her hand over his mouth, pointing a finger at him and she spoke as if addressing a dog.

"No…no. No more of your porn voice, I surrender."

He nodded to signal that he wouldn't continue on, though he did reach to pinch her butt. She let out an actual squeak and he couldn't help but to chuckle.

He started to speak and she sucked in a breath when she heard the first syllable- "th". Waiting, anticipating, she found herself actually getting giddy: was this a 'thank you' heading her way? After all the things people said about him, after all the warnings and advice from Wilson, House was proving them wrong. He was going to thank her, going to appreciate the gesture and make plans to reciprocate. He was…

…not saying 'thank you'.

"There was nothing wrong with my old tv, by the way. Don't think just because I'm using this one that I don't still think the one I had was fine."

He wasn't being mean but he also was not teasing just to joke. She saw it there, swimming in his sharp blues- a seriousness born of that ever-driving desire to be right, to be recognized as right.

Remy shrugged and turned again to sit between his legs and lay back against him, hand falling to his thigh in budding habit and she sat there staring at the moneyshot while she drowned in doubt until she felt his beard scrape against her cheek. She lifted her free hand to run her fingers through his hair and felt him kiss at her fingertips and nuzzle subtly into her touch. After a moment of two, the tv switched over to a boringly remastered movie and she knew he'd changed it for her. Petting him a little more, she let out a breath and relaxed into him.

"Happy birthday, Greg."


End file.
